Brownian Motion

on the granite Killian sculpture
i’m standing on the brink
of tears

you hold my hand against
the stone as if to keep me
from falling

into spirals of missed deadlines and
failed exams and broken code
and unraveling friendships

because i can feel them drifting
away like dying leaves
in autumn, cold as the winter
wind on the terrace

where i sit down wishing
that life were solid
like the concrete beneath
and not inching ever-closer
to the brink